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http://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/old-wounds-341/#commentsSun, 14 Dec 2008 00:00:00 +0000Donovan Craighttp://www.fightmagazine.comThe View From Ipanema “This is close to where Rickson Gracie had the famous fi ght with Hugo Duarte,” Master Ricardo Murgel tells me as we jog along Ipanema beach after a morning workout. Murgel is that rarest of creatures, a Brazilian with a correct sense of punctuality. He meets me every morning at 8:00 [...]

“This is close to where Rickson Gracie had the famous fi ght with Hugo Duarte,” Master Ricardo Murgel tells me as we jog along Ipanema beach after a morning workout. Murgel is that rarest of creatures, a Brazilian with a correct sense of punctuality. He meets me every morning at 8:00 sharp and we go running along the famous Ipanema beach. The fi ght Murgel is referring to took place when a young Rickson Gracie, golden child of the revered Gracie clan, was confronted at the beach by Hugo Duarte, a fi ghter from a competing discipline called Luta Livre. Gracie became incensed when Duarte said something disparaging about his family, so he slapped Duarte. After a fi ght lasting about eight minutes, Gracie mounted Duarte and beat him into submission. The fi ght was caught on tape by a tourist. It subsequently became very famous when the Gracies featured the footage in videos they used to market Jiu-Jitsu as a realistic fi ghting system.

Gracie’s beatdown of Duarte was one of the most famous battles in a war that took place in Brazil during the 80s and 90s between the practitioners of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Luta Livre (free fi ghting). In gyms, on the street, on beaches, and ultimately in front of the whole nation in huge live events, the two sides engaged in a bitter rivalry that had social implications as well as fi stic ones. The traditional gi became a symbol of contention between the two camps. Jiu-Jitsu devotees who swore by the gi said it helped develop technique. Luta Livre fi ghters said that since people don’t walk around wearing gis, it was silly to train techniques that required them and the two sides often came to blows over the effectiveness of the traditional gi as a training tool. There was also a less obvious element to Luta Livre’s argument against the gi: a gi costs money to buy, and from the beginning Luta Livre was from the slums, for the poor people of Brazil.

The hills that surround the city of Rio de Janeiro are covered with these colorful shantytowns, or favelas. Although they are home to the some of the most destitute members of Brazilian society, when viewed from the beach they are not unsightly, with red roofs and stark white walls refl ecting the bright sun. Powerful gangs control the slums and run the drug trade in Rio. The biggest is called Red Command. Everyone in the city knows which slums are Red Command’s territory and therefore off limits to anyone without permission to enter. This includes the police.

While the wealthy residents of Rio never venture into the favelas, the same can’t be said of the reverse. A wave of poor and less fortunate citizens fl oods into the city every day. The lucky ones work at the city’s menial jobs, but many come to beg and commit crimes. Rio has one of the highest crime rates in the world, and the rich and the poor exist in close proximity. The unfortunates here seem different than those back home. In America, the very poor and homeless often have a glazed over, defeated look to them. In Rio, they are wide awake and their eyes are fi erce.

The Archimedes of Grappling

Later in the day I meet one of the founding fathers of Luta Livre, when Murgel accompanies me to meet Master Roberto Leitao. Leitao has trained many prominent mixed martial artists, including Babalu Sobral, Pedro Rizzo and Marco Ruas. He is sought out for his expertise in grappling by fi ghters all over the world . Leitao, a well-preserved 71, is teaching his class above a gym in a fashionable section of Rio. As we enter, two huge heavyweights are tossing around a 120-pound slam dummy like a pillow.

Leitao is stately, and seems gentlemanly even stripped to the waist and clad in wrestling tights. He speaks English, with the fl air and elocution of a man familiar with the tenets of classical oratory. “Luta Livre is the oldest sport known to man. It began in prehistoric times because man used to fi ght to survive,” he begins with panache. “Man has always had to fi ght to survive.” He gestures with his hand in a fl ourish worthy of Cicero. He is a born showman. He tells me about the development of MMA in Brazil and his version is different form the one I’ve heard from the Jiu Jitsu Grandmaster’s I’ve spoken to.

“There are two paths for MMA in Brazil. One starts with the Jiu-Jitsu people who learned from Count Koma in the north of Brazil. He taught Carlos Gracie, George Gracie, and Gastao Gracie.” I notice he doesn’t mention Helio, who is regarded as the patron saint of BJJ by most people. “But you know, Koma was a Judo teacher…” he says slyly. I sense that this is some sort of dig. “They learned Judo from him, but since Judo is basically takedowns and they liked to fi ght on the ground, they called it Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.” I notice out of the corner of my eye that Murgel, a grizzled BJJ veteran, looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t.

“In the other version, you have people who came from pro wrestling,“ Leitao continues in his most pedantic tone. Looking at the bare-chested, silverhaired old fox as he lectures, I think that this is what Socrates might have looked like. “When most people in America hear the term professional wrestling, they think fake.” I say.

“Well the pro wrestling guys are artists. It’s a show. But Luta Livre isn’t a show at all. It’s a real fi ght. You have to submit the guy by a choke or arm bar. There is no punching, it’s very technical. If you put punches with Luta Livre, it becomes MMA.” One of Leitao’s best students, MMA legend Marco Ruas, was one of the fi rst fi ghters in MMA to incorporate Muay Thai and striking with his grappling expertise. It was a revolutionary concept for it’s time and he was a prototype for today’s balanced mixed martial artist.

“Why don’t more people do Luta Livre?” Murgel asks Leitao pointedly.

“The problem is that for a true sport to develop, you must have teachers who are able to make a living teaching it. And it used to be that many guys started doing Luta Livre but they didn’t earn money teaching, and that’s a big problem. Judo and Jiu-Jitsu developed because they had many teachers living off teaching Judo or Jiu-Jitsu.” Leitao answers with a scowl. “And why is that?” Murgel presses.

“Because when Gracie started Jiu-Jitsu, he was selective in whom he trained so in the beginning Jiu-Jitsu people had more power and money. Back then, Luta Livre had no money or power, it was for the poor people,” he says, his delivery denoting a trace of hostility long buried.

Leitao contends that it was the greater fi nancial and organizational resources of the Jiu-Jitsu people, as he calls them, which caused it to be more widespread and well known than his own Luta Livre. Despite this, he thinks that Luta Livre, which he helped create, is the superior martial art. “ I studied biomechanics for thirty years” he says.

I notice that Murgel’s attention has drifted and he leaves us to go watch the two behemoths train. And to speak to Pedro Rizzo who has just walked in for his daily training. When I ask Master Leitao about BJJ and modern MMA, he tells me something that would be considered blasphemy by many people in Rio.

“Gracie was stubborn,” he says, referring to Helio Gracie, the great architect of BJJ and patriarch of the Gracie family. ”He believed that leverage was enough, but he was wrong.” Leitao offers as evidence how well wrestling, which he says is identical to Luta Livre, did against Jiu-Jitsu fi ghters in the early days of MMA once they had adapted.

He tells me that he has recently completed a book about Luta Livre. It has taken him thirty years to complete and represents his life’s work. “I have taken the principles of Archimedes and Newton and applied them to Luta Livre.” He says proudly.

CARRYING THE FLAG

“In the old days, Jiu-Jitsu and Luta Livre hated each other. You did Jiu-Jitsu or you did Luta Livre, and it was like carrying the fl ag for your country.”

I have just met Walid Ismail, one of the Late Carlson Gracie’s best students and one of the main soldiers in old BJJ/Luta Livre wars. A short stocky man with a bald head and caulifl ower ears that jut off his head at odd angles, he reminds me of a faithful pit bull. This is a good man to call your friend and a dreadful one to be your enemy. He is beloved in Brazil for his dedication to BJJ and his master the late Carlson Gracie, and for his habit of always speaking from the heart. Standing next to him I feel like Walid is going to bite my head off.

“[To prove Jiu-Jitsu] we had many fi ghts in the street!” He is so excited telling me about the old days that he becomes sidetracked, losing his train of thought. “What was your question again?” he asks. “About Luta Livre,” I say to him, and he looks at me confused. Murgel jumps in to gently guide him. “This was the man who won a famous challenge match between Luta Livre and Jiu-Jitsu.” He says. “Yes!” Walid says, suddenly remembering. He then announces triumphantly, “I was the one who challenged Luta Livre!”

As a young man, the hot-blooded Walid became incensed when a Luta Livre fi ghter named Eugenio Tadeu beat a BJJ fi ghter named Renan Pitanguy. “This is one of the few times this happened,” he assures me. To add insult to injury, Tadeu won the fi ght by holding onto the jacket of Petanguy’s gi, the symbol of BJJ’s power and infl uence, with one hand and beating him with the other until Petanguy’s corner threw in the towel. Walid, who was a young purple belt at the time, swore revenge. He says Carlson Gracie cooled him down, telling him he was too inexperienced to fi ght the older Luta Livre fi ghter. A few years later, Tadeu had another high-profi le match, against Royler Gracie, that ended in a draw. In that fi ght, Royler didn’t wear a gi. He instead fought in tights like the Luta Livre fi ghter. It was a moral victory for the underdog Luta Livre style.

“I said, ‘This cannot happen,’” Walid growls. “Luta Livre was growing a lot at the time and Jiu- Jitsu was starting to lose its stake in the market,” he admits frankly. In the early days, many of Jiu-Jitsu’s challenge matches were held in order to protect the economic turf of the Jiu-Jitsu schools that were springing up around the country.

“I started training, and when I felt good, I went to the paper and I challenged them.” The move was a gutsy one by Walid who was by this time, a brown belt under Carlson Gracie. Surrounded by media hype, the fi ght became huge. Called Desafi o, it was shown on network television in Brazil and three BJJ fi ghters were matched against three Luta Livre fi ghters. The main event was Walid vs. Tadeu. Walid fought without a gi and dominated Tadeu. “Before the second round,” he recalls “ I took out my mouthpiece and threw it to the crowd and they went crazy.” He re-enacts tossing something into the bleachers and whipping the crowd into a frenzy, reliving the moment in his mind.

The fi ght ended in the second round when Walid threw Tadeu out of the ring. The Luta Livre fi ghter stayed on the fl oor and was counted out, giving Walid the victory.

Afterwards, Tadeu contended that the huge crowd of BJJ supporters that gathered around him when he was hurled to the fl oor prevented him from reentering the ring. Walid and the BJJ supporters say that it was because Tadeu was either injured or too frightened to return to the ring and face the wild man Walid. The video of the fi ght is inconclusive.

That fi ght made Walid a star in Brazil, and he speaks about it like a war veteran who long ago turned the tide of a battle. In a way, maybe he did. On that night, all three Jiu-Jitsu fi ghters defeated their Luta Livre opponents.

The rivalry between BJJ and Luta Livre reached its climax six years after Walid’s victory at Desafi o. This time it would be Renzo Gracie vs. Tadeu. Many Luta Livre supporters were in the crowd at the event, and several hundred of them gathered around the cage, pressing against it during the fi ght. Several minutes into the match, which until that point had been even, the lights inexplicably went out in the arena. Chaos ensued as the BJJ supporters and Luta Livre people saw their chance to get at each other. Fights broke out, chairs were thrown, and shots were even fi red into the air. When the lights came back on, there was a near riot, and the police had to be called in to restore order.

After the Sept. 27, 1997 fi asco, Rio’s mayor banned live Vale Tudo events in the city. Things had gotten out of control between the two camps, and in a country like Brazil, where social inequality abounds and the tacit threat of unrest and violence is always simmering beneath the surface, that could not be allowed to happen.

“Thank God we have rules today,” Walid says, referring to the old “anything goes” days of Vale Tudo in Brazil.

He has mellowed as he has grown older, and even considers some of the Luta Livre guys his friends. A rising tide lifts all boats, and the success of MMA in the United States and the fi nancial opportunity it has created makes it more profi table for them to be at peace. Today, Walid is a successful promoter, putting on events and even working with some of his old enemies.

“Before, it was crazy. We saw the Luta Livre guys on the street, and we would want to fi ght. There were weekly street fi ghts. This is the old view – today this view doesn’t exist because everybody trains together, everybody is friends.” Walid is trying his best to end on a friendly note, but even when he smiles he looks like he wants to kick my ass.

FIGHTING TO LIVE NOT LIVING TO FIGHT

It is undeniable that the victor in the BJJ/Luta Livre war was Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. In the major competitions between the two styles, BJJ won all but two of the matches. BJJ and the Gracie family continue to thrive. It is said only half in jest that you can fi nd a Jiu-Jitsu gym on every block in Rio. The few schools that once taught Luta Livre were closed due to a lack of students. When they closed, many of more prominent Jiu-Jitsu teams picked up the fi ghters that began in Luta Livre.

Today the money isn’t in martial arts schools. Now the money is in the actual fi ghting and promoting, and the once elitist and aristocratic BJJ teams have shown themselves more and more willing to recruit from the Luta Livre talent pool.

A select few Luta Livre fi ghters who were left without a home when the original schools closed formed RFT or Renovacao Fight Team, headed by one of Eugenio Tadeu’s students, Marcio “Cromado” Barbosa. Watching them train in their cramped gym, I am impressed by the athleticism and showmanship of the fi ghters. Cromado holds the pads for several of them working in a row. He has them fi nish each combination with a showy jumping knee. How effective the dramatic maneuver is, I don’t know. But I am sure it is a crowd pleaser.

I speak to several of the fi ghters as my friend Master Murgel acts an interpreter, Leonardo Nasciment, who goes by the nickname Chocolate, tells me that when they started the team the idea was to go slow, step-by-step, but it skyrocketed. Today, the RFT fi ghters get invitations to fi ght all over the world. Chocolate has made some waves in Europe where he recently won the Cage Rage Championships.

“The fi rst reason for the success is our excellent coach and the commitment of the athletes. We all have one thing in common; we want a better life,” he says, referring to the team’s commitment to escape poverty and help their families do so as well. “We want to get out of the country to fi ght in one with a strong currency so that we have money to send back to help our families,” he says.

Luciano Azevedo tells me that his involvement in Luta Livre and MMA has saved him. “Many of my friends went to the wrong side of life with gangs and drugs, so I thank God that MMA has given me the opportunities to go to the right side, and also support my family by doing what I love as a living.”

A fi ghter called Chatuba echoes this, and tells me that many of his friends that he grew up with have been killed, gotten arrested, or caught up in the gang lifestyle. “Would you have ended up that way if it was not for Luta Livre?” I ask.

“Most likely,” he says. “Being a fi ghter is a less stressful lifestyle than the other,” he answers pragmatically. “It’s less risky.” They all say that their Coach Marcio Cromado is the driving force behind the team and the man most responsible for its success.

“Cromado is the man. He takes care of everything for us.” Says Chocolate. He says that in the old days the Jiu-Jitsu fi ghters had better organization and management and this freed up their attention to concentrate solely on fi ghting. Luta Livre never had that until Cromado.

For his part, Cromado, a man who looks a good deal younger than his 35 years, with a kind face and happy eyes, is proud to be carrying the tradition of Luta Livre and of his teacher Eugenio Tadeu into the future. He tells me that he started fi ghting in 2000, and created RFT as a ‘dream’ six years ago. The team’s record is not fantastic, and most of the fi ghters have many losses on their record. This isn’t how they judge success, however. To them, it is a victory just to be able to have the chance to earn a living fi ghting. “Others live to fi ght, we fi ght to live,” was the way Luis put it.

It is easy to believe that Jiu-Jitsu crushed Luta Livre in the great rivalry. In its aftermath, the few major Luta Livre schools closed, and Brazilian Jiu- Jitsu schools sprouted up everywhere. The fi nal tally of the hundreds of street battles that took place is unknown, but in the public events, BJJ dominated. In the vast majority of the times they faced BJJ fi ghters the ones from Luta Livre were resoundingly defeated.

But the story doesn’t end there. The early Vale Tudo contests in Brazil were an integral, if brutal, part of the huge modern phenomenon of mixed martial arts. And, no one, not even the Gracies, continues to fi ght in the gi in MMA matches. All across the world, “no gi” Jiu-Jitsu is taught which is very similar, some would say identical, to Luta Livre. So Luta Livre was at least victorious when it came to the issue of the gi. But if you ask Master Cromado and his boys at RFT they will tell you that it was never really about the gi.

]]>http://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/old-wounds-341/feed/0Through the Stormhttp://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/through-the-storm-342/
http://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/through-the-storm-342/#commentsSun, 14 Dec 2008 00:00:00 +0000Donovan Craighttp://www.fightmagazine.comThe house sits at the end of a poorly kept dirt road in a neighborhood with no visible street signs. The gate is locked and I can hear several dogs barking behind it. It’s growing dark and I start to wonder if I am even in the right place. As the dusk turns to outright [...]

]]>The house sits at the end of a poorly kept dirt road in a neighborhood with no visible street signs. The gate is locked and I can hear several dogs barking behind it. It’s growing dark and I start to wonder if I am even in the right place. As the dusk turns to outright darkness, a black sedan comes roaring up, music blaring. Paulo Filho pops out of the passenger side. His crew of fi ve friends piles out with him. He smiles, fumbles for his keys, and opens the gate.

He invites me into the courtyard and a cloud of noise and chaos follows us in.

Once inside the gate, I meet the dogs. One of them, a mammoth white English bulldog sounding like a locomotive, huffs and snorts his way out to meet us. He leaps up on me, slobbering. “Kron, no!” Paulo admonishes and pushes him off. I ask Paulo if he named the dog after Kron Gracie, son of the great Rickson Gracie. “No, just coincidence,” Paulo says, giving me a wide-eyed shrug. One of Paulo’s crew says, “Ask him about the horse.”

“Hey Paulo, what about the horse?” I parrot, having no idea what I’m talking about in the swirl of activity. Paulo again shrugs, but lets his friend know that it is all right to tell me. “Yesterday he picked up a horse,” the guy tells me. “What?” I exclaim incredulously. “A real one? A horse or a pony?” “A horse,” the guy says. Paulo proudly mimes squatting down and picking up a horse on his shoulders like a squatting with a barbell.

“Why?” I ask. Paulo smiles, shrugs and looks at me like it’s the dumbest question anyone had ever asked him. It seems impossible that a man could pick up a horse. But Filho is known for his eccentric training methods. Once, he allowed four full-grown men to climb his shoulders piggyback style as he trotted across a fi eld. The uncanny display of strength, available on YouTube, has to be seen to be believed.

As we go upstairs, we pass the garage that Paulo has turned into a makeshift gym. Ten feet by ten feet and lined with wrestling mats, the fl oor is strewn with several sets of boxing gloves. There is a phrase in Portuguese inscribed high on the back wall in blood red. He calls the small cubby his laboratory, and it’s used to research moves that he wants to keep secret until he springs them on an unsuspecting opponent. When I ask him about the writing on the wall, he tells me it means, “God guides you through the storm.”

A large, beat-up entertainment center dominates the small den inside Paulo’s house. Unkempt, chaotic but comfortable, it reminds me of my dorm room in college, only bigger with cooler stuff. A blanket and several pillows indicate that someone slept on the couch the night before. All of Paulo’s trophies from PRIDE Fighting Championship sit on top of the entertainment center. It is surprising how small they are. They could’ve been given out at Little League or for winning a school spelling bee. Paulo infl icted a lot of doom, blues, and agony on his opponents in Japan to win those little things. One of his friends pulls open a drawer crammed with medals Paulo has won competing in Judo, Jiu-Jitsu, and MMA. He has been a champion since he was a boy. He can’t remember the last time anyone got the better of him.

From a room off the kitchen, I hear the sound of puppies whining. Paulo goes in and reveals a female pit-bull, nursing a litter. He tenderly pets the mother and then scoops the puppies up in his arms. He handles them with the calculated roughness of someone who is used to breeding dogs. He tells me that pit bulls are his favorites because of their loyalty and fi ghting spirit. I ask him about a rumor I heard, that he once lived in a three-bedroom apartment in Rio with eighteen full-grown pit bulls. He says it’s true.

“Paulo, how in hell do you feed eighteen pit bulls?” I ask. He breaks out into a rapid-fi re giggle.

“I had to fi ght to feed them.” Giggling sheepishly, he could be a six-year-old cutting up in the back of the class at school. It’s easy to forget that he is one of the most dangerous mixed martial artists on the planet.

We take our seats at a small dining room table, and I ask him why he chooses to stay in Brazil. He says as long as his father and mother are there he cannot leave. “It’s actually a very personal question.” He says, “My father was a successful engineer for Petrobras. My mother was from a very poor family, practically starving. She came to Rio when she was twenty and met my father who was thirtyfi ve and had a daughter by a previous marriage. They fell in love at fi rst sight, but my father’s family was very against the marriage. He loved her, so they got married anyway. After that, my father’s family had nothing to do with us.”

Paulo wears his heart on his sleeve, and as he tells this story, the hurt and rejection from those days is written on his face. He says that as a kid he never met anyone from his father’s side of the family. “They even tried to get my mother to abort me.” He says. I am a little shocked that he would be so forthcoming. “How do you know that?“ I ask. “I found out,” he replies cryptically.

Because of being ostracized by the rest of the family, he and his parents are extremely close. “It was always us three against the world,” he says. He also admits that it may have caused his parents to spoil him. “Being an only child, I have always been the darling.” Hardheaded, hyperactive, and often incorrigible, Filho admits that he was a “terrible kid”. In an attempt to channel his energy, his parents enrolled him in a Judo class at the age of fi ve. On his fi rst day in the class, he spit on the mats. “Just because you were mean?” I ask. “No. It was to say, ‘if I want to spit, I’ll spit.’”

Noticing the hint of defi ance in his voice as he tells the story, I wonder how much of the precocious and headstrong child is left in the man. Despite his cantankerous fi rst day, he soon realized that Judo was the one and only thing in his life that required discipline and commitment, and he liked that. The daily challenge of training motivated him. I am amused by the thought of a fi ve-year-old Paulo in his little gi being psyched up to and ready to train. But hearing him tell it, it makes sense.

When he was eight, his family moved to Copacabana, and Paulo had a chance encounter that changed his life. He was looking for a Judo gym in his new town, and by sheer luck he wandered into the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu academy of Carlson Gracie. “I saw people inside with gis and I thought they were doing Judo.”

Carlson was at the front desk with his brother Robson Gracie. Carlson intuitively sensed something in the stocky eightyear- old. Paulo imitates Carlson jumping up from behind the desk and saying in his famously brusque style, “Look at the size of this boy’s hands!” A good trainer, and Carlson Gracie was one of the best, can see physical potential in a kid immediately, the way a horse trainer can judge a thoroughbred by watching it walk across a fi eld,

“I came back at fi ve like Carlson asked me to, and I never stopped coming back,” Paulo continues. I ask what it was like to know the legendary Carlson, a man who is second only to the demigod Helio in the affection of the average Brazilian. Filho starts to beam as he recollects his old coach.

“Carlson’s main virtue is that had no idea who he was. He was very humble and down to earth. He was an extremely simple and authentic person,” recalls Filho. “Carlson was VERY direct. He would show a move three times, and if you hadn’t gotten it he would ask, ‘Hey boy! Are you blind or are you stupid? Which is it?’”

Uncompromising honesty was an important part of what made Carlson such a phenomenal coach. “If he saw something wrong in your training, he would be the fi rst to tell you, ‘If you don’t fi x this you are going to get destroyed.’ But when he told you that you would win it gave you incredible confi dence.”

I ask him if the notoriously short-tempered Vale Tudo legend ever got mad at him. “Thousands of times.” He says. He gets a devilishly gleeful look on his face as he tells a favorite Carlson story. “One time Carlson had scheduled training at ten o’clock in the morning. This was when Walid Ismail was going to fi ght a guy from Luta Livre. At the time, I was fi fteen or sixteen years old, and had stayed out partying until about six in the morning.“ Paulo says he came home and crashed and forgot about the training.

Carlson came to Paulo’s house to pick him up. Panicked at his coach’s unexpected arrival, Paulo hid himself under the bed, hoping Carlson would go away if he thought he wasn’t at home. He heard Carlson enter his house looking for him, and asking his mother, “Where is Paulo, where is the poor little baby who can’t train?” So Paulo, still hiding, cracked up at the commotion Carlson was making and got busted. “Look at the poor little baby who doesn’t want to come training today. Isn’t that sad? Did the baby get a little bit last night? Aww, is he tired, does he want to sleep? Well, now he can get his ass to training!” As Paulo tells the story, the gleam in his eyes reveals how much he loved the old man who passed away in 2006. “Carlson was an institution… he was unique.”

I fi nally ask him about checking himself into rehab and his reported struggles with depression. He seems genuinely perplexed as he answers. “I don’t know what happened, but it happened suddenly. Things started to occur that I couldn’t explain. I didn’t want to train and I’ve loved training my whole life. I would sleep all of the time, lose my temper. I would just eat, eat, and eat.”

“I was very unbalanced. One minute I was great, the next I was extremely upset, crying. I couldn’t stand the light and always wanted to be in the dark.” Paulo is describing the classic symptoms of clinical depression, but he says that in Brazil they didn’t really have the facilities or expertise to deal with this sort of problem.

“I don’t know why I had this problem, but I do know that because of it I lost my wife, my friends, my professional credibility, and even my health.” He was unwisely self-medicating with antidepressants, but he says it hurts him to see people accuse him of other types of drug abuse. Elsewhere, he has admitted that the drug he used to combat his depression was Rohypnol, which is not typically prescribed for depression, as it is a powerful narcotic.

I ask him straight out: “Paulo, have you ever used steroids or other illegal drugs?” He answers immediately and emphatically, shaking his head. “No, never. NEVER, EVER!”

He says it was not until he checked himself into a facility that he fi nally received proper medical treatment for his condition. “I am much better, but it is a continual thing. I am going day by day.” He realizes this will be a challenge for the rest of his life. “Before, I didn’t understand what was happening to me, so I didn’t know how to react. But now that I know the nature of the challenge, I will face it. I’m a fi ghter.”

He tells me he knows now that many people have this sort of problem, even if they don’t realize it. “I am sure that there will be someone who will read this article and is in the same position that I was and will recognize what I’m talking about. They should know that there are people who understand them and that there is a way out.”

Paulo says the three things that pulled him through were his faith in God, the love of his true friends and family, and recognizing that he needed to get proper treatment. He says that as awful as the experience was, if he had to go through everything again to learn what he did about himself, he would. “Nothing in life is by chance.” He says, “Everything has meaning.”

As we wrap up and are about to leave, Paulo catches me. Taking me by the arm he says, “I feel like now the rain has dried up a little bit more.” He might have been hesitant about talking to me, but now I think he is glad that he got everything off his chest. I tell him that the way he is facing his demons is actually a much greater display of courage than anything he will ever do in the ring.

“No comparison,” he agrees, suddenly turning solemn. Whereas a moment before he had been boyish and gleeful, now he’s extremely somber with a faraway, steely look in his eyes. He walks with me downstairs and outside as far as the gate. As I head to my car, I turn to thank for him for his time and hospitality, but I am a too slow. The gate is closed and I can hear him locking it on the other side.

]]>http://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/through-the-storm-342/feed/0The Real Chuck Liddellhttp://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/the-real-chuck-liddell-346/
http://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/the-real-chuck-liddell-346/#commentsFri, 14 Nov 2008 00:00:00 +0000Jay Glazerhttp://www.fightmagazine.comI returned from an eight-day NFL Pro Bowl trip, checked out my house, which I believed had been vacant following a raucous Super Bowl stint, and suddenly felt I was Kato Kaelin-ized. I opened the door to the master guest room in my house and there, laid out on the fl oor, were the belongings [...]

]]>I returned from an eight-day NFL Pro Bowl trip, checked out my house, which I believed had been vacant following a raucous Super Bowl stint, and suddenly felt I was Kato Kaelin-ized. I opened the door to the master guest room in my house and there, laid out on the fl oor, were the belongings of one Chuck Liddell. Not just a few belongings, but all his junk.

Huh? Chuck had stayed with me during Super Bowl week and tagged along for many of the NFL festivities and appearances I committed to attend. The two of us went as far as attaching our name to the offi cial Coors Light Super Bowl after-party.

But as far as I knew, the dude had left when I left for Hawaii’s Pro Bowl. But the scene in front of me spelled a much different story. All his belongings he brought for the week lay on the ground, and his one suit—that’s correct, the only suit he owns–hung in the closet. The only pair of dress shoes he owns–yup, one pair of dress shoes—were discarded in no particular arrangement on the ground.

“Slappy (which I usually refer to him as), where the hell are you?” I asked via cell phone. “I’m at the gym, where are you?” he retorted. “Who’s gym? Mine in AZ?” “No, I’m up in SLO (San Luis Obispo).” “Slappy, you left all your shit here at my house,” I said, not really caring, but just incredibly confused. “Oh, yeah, I, uh, I, um, yeah, I forgot my stuff!” “You forgot your stuff!!? What are you like seven?” That my friends, is all you need to know about the man, the myth, the legend. This is vintage Chuck Liddell.

When the fi ne folks at FIGHT! Magazine phoned asking if I could do a story on the famed fi ghting fi gure, I at fi rst, second and third turned them down. They asked that I do a special cover story on him, letting people get a true inside glance, a behind-closed-doors peak, if you will, on perhaps the most famous face in mixed martial arts. Since the outside world doesn’t really understand that icy stare behind the eyes or what he’s like outside the world of the Octagon, they asked if I could allow them entry into what he’s really like.

Too hard of a story, I thought. If you’d have asked me about one of my football buddies who overcame the adversity of the mean streets and is now living the high society life we once dreamed about as kids, sure, no problemo.

But with Chuck? There is no fl ashy story here. No dirt to dig up. No big controversy to dwell on. He’s not a “scene” guy or a star fucker. Honestly, he’s just Chuck. The fans at home get what they see. There’s no secret to this guy. Give him a face to punch during training and he’s happy. When he’s not training, give him a barstool and a couple of beers, throw on some football and he’s just as happy.

The editor’s at FIGHT! are relentless. They continued on about what a mystery he is, and how there’s got to be something sexy about the guy. They just wanted a peek into what it’s like being around the Iceman, what it’s like to be part of his world. That story up above spells it out to perfection. Chuck is a jagoff, and I mean that in the most fl attering of ways with nothing but love. If all the other athletes in the world stayed true to who they are the way Chuck does, the sports pages would be one boring read. We wouldn’t have the prima donnas that capture our daily conversations, and we would be without the seasonal soap operas brought about by Kobe, T.O., Shaq and A-Rod.

I’m not exaggerating. The man has one suit and one pair of shoes. Oh, and that suit he owns is only because we had to go to a dressup gala event for Muhammad Ali in April. He had to go buy it the week of the event. That folks, is who Chuck Liddell is. Oh, and those shoes? He’s had the same pair for four years. Ugliest damn shoes you’ll ever see in your life. Look like a cross between a canoe and those dance fever Capezios we wore on the Jersey Shore years ago.

“How the hell are these your only shoes?” I barked. To Chuck, those shoes were legends. In fact, he recently lost one of them and we proclaimed it an end of an ugly era in his life.

You’ll never fi nd Chuck in a Gucci store, and he won’t be seen near a Prada location. Not only won’t he buy from the world of designer royalty, he may not even wear something if it ain’t free (sorry, buddy, I’m using this to take my shots).

I tried to explain all these things to the FIGHT! folks. They wanted anything to show the fans who he truly is. They wanted an inside look and as uncomfortable as I was with it, we talked about it and agreed to come up with something.

Perhaps I can best sum up Chuck like this – had this article been assigned 10 years ago, the content would not change one bit. Not a line! He is the same exact human being he was fi ve years ago, 10 years ago, college, even high school, except now everyone in the world knows he can whip their asses. Plus, he’s got some coin now too.

The fi rst time Chuck and I hung out, we rolled for a TV shoot and afterwards he came with me to a party I was going to, hosted by NFL legends Marcus Allen and Warren Moon. This was during The Ultimate Fighter 1 and back then, the general population was just being introduced to this menacing-looking slugger.

We sat off by ourselves near the bar and were generally left alone. Every 15 minutes or so, someone would come up to talk to him or ask him what he does. And every time Chuck seemed a bit embarrassed, but he took the time to talk to each fan as if they had grown up together.

But Chuck was probably the least-known celebrity in the group and seemed extremely happy about that fact.

Fast forward to April of this year. Muhammad Ali holds his charity event, named “Fight Night”, in Arizona every year. The ballroom held an audience that included the who’s who of Hollywood and sports fame: Whitney Houston, Kevin Costner, Faith Hill, LaDainian Tomlinson, Shaq, Tony Hawke, Steve Nash, Ray Lewis, Celine Dion…the list goes on and on. It was a red carpet that only the Oscars could rival (thankfully this one omitted those annoying as hell Rivers ladies).

Unlike our event years ago, Liddell seemed to be the biggest draw in the place. Not only did damn near every fan line up to get a glimpse of the Iceman, the stars clamored for a handshake, a chat. Costner’s people came over and talked about how much a fan the famed actor is and asked if he could possibly meet him. Shaq made sure he paid his respects. Star after star went crazy for the guy!

His reaction? The same exact one those people all those years ago received when he was just about to leave Anonymous Town and pull into Notoriety Station. He dropped his head and got lost behind the veil of repeated text messages – his oasis away from the famous world he has been thrust into.

“When I go to those things I’m still shocked when those celebrities know who I am,” he said. “I got to throw out the fi rst pitch of a Dodgers game last year and Tommy Lasorda knew who I was. How cool is that?”

Personally, I love it because you like to see those who deserve it get it. It drives me nuts when some knuckleheaded athlete takes for granted what God blessed him with and acts like he’s entitled to a rock star lifestyle. Chuck acts like he’s entitled to a good laugh every now and then, that’s about it.

He spilled his blood to fi nd fame and fortune and never once forgot that it’s actually OK not to change. Imagine that? What a novel idea. Get rich and famous and still hang out with the same slappies you always did, right there in your college town. Sure, I could see Tom Cruise doing the same thing, no?

Unlike friends of mine who try to collect stars and attach themselves to what they believe makes them bigger and better people, Chuck shies away from it.

“It’s embarrassing,” Chuck admits. “It’s just not me. It’s just weird, it’s strange. I don’t get it. I don’t’ think I’ve ever been big on making a big deal about people. It’s still hard for me to really comprehend that people will be like, ‘Wow, it’s Chuck Liddell.’” “Even after all this time, I still don’t know how to take it. I almost feel like saying, ‘sorry.’ I love the fact that people appreciate the sport and how tough it is, but it’s still strange to be a celebrity.”

At that Ali event, we sat at a table with NFL stars Ray Lewis, Shawne Merriman, Lance Briggs and our dates, and the big bad football players couldn’t be more respectful. This time, the football players weren’t the stars, Chuck was. And this time, Chuck acted the same exact way he did years before.

As big and bad as they were, the man behind that icy stare could knock them off the perch with one awkward counter hook. Maybe that’s what makes people so enamored with Chuck. He doesn’t just play the part in the cage, he looks the part away from it. “He’s a great guy but I’ll be honest with you, he scares the crap out of me,” said another friend, Giants retired DE Michael Strahan. “I didn’t know what to make of him but those eyes, man those eyes make me hope he’s always in a good mood.”

He’s feared and revered and lives in a world of violence. He makes money by looking tough and smashing people’s faces. But he counters that one extreme with another side of his makeup. Folks, as much as he likes to fi nd pain, he searches for constant laughter as well.

Strahan probably saw the enigma that is Chuck Liddell faster than anyone on the planet. Moments after I introduced the two, Strahan left his cell phone on the table. Chuck told me to take the phone and send someone a really messed up text from his cell and then erase it. Simply put, it was ingenious.

The two of us sent Strahan’s agent Maury Gostfrand a text asking him if coming out of the closet would hurt his marketability, and stating that he simply didn’t want to hide it for another day. At the time, Strahan’s ex-wife released a story to the New York tabloids that he was, shall we say, living an alternative lifestyle.

Chuck seemed more excited about delivering this blow than he did delivering a vicious kick to Babalu. We sent the text and waited for the fun to begin. Strahan received a text back from Gostfrand asking if he was serious. Strahan texted back asking, “serious about what?” Gostfrand retorted, “about coming out of the closet.” Strahan was utterly confused.

Here Liddell was, having met Strahan for a grand total of about 200 seconds, and he comes up with an idea to enrage a sleeping New York Giant. That, folks, is Liddell to a tee. Oh, and by the way, it took about eight more confusing texts for Strahan and his agent to fi gure out what the other was talking about. About a year earlier, Chuck sent a similar text to, get this one, his friend Antonio Banuelo’s…. MOM! Antonio was out doing roadwork and his poor mom got a text from her son admitting the same thing Strahan seemingly did in his text. The poor lady had to wait for 90 minutes or so to fi nd out she had been bamboozled by the UFC Light Heavyweight King!

The humor? It’s a weapon in the grand scheme of his game. He has a terrifi c group of confi dants that hangs with him and keeps him loose prior to stepping foot into the Octagon. Long-time friends like Antonio, Usman Iqbal, Scott Lighty, Glover Texeira, his brother Dan, Brad Marks, Alex Karalexis and Dwayne Zinkin are all there to ensure their buddy is always on his toes. And of course, his fi ancé Erin Wilson is there, and she dishes it out better than the boys.

I’m honored to be one of the group’s members, whenever it’s not football season. I’ve been back there with a bunch of fi ghters prior to going to battle, but none quite like Chuck. It’s a comedy show back there. We bust on him pretty much all day long and he seems to encourage it, his aura begs for barbs, for zingers.

“That’s my thing,” he said, “the guys keep me relaxed. It helps me kill time. No one can sit back there with nothing to do and stay relaxed for that long. I get bored out of my mind. You start getting bored and you start over thinking it. Going back and forth at each other, it keeps me where I need to be mentally.”

There aren’t just zingers here and there, it’s non-stop Chuck Liddell roast time. Nothing is off limits. Who cares if he’s getting psyched, I got another bullet in the chamber waiting to shoot it his way. If someone else does something asinine, he rides them so hard they may have it worse than his opponent that night.

Whatever the man has done stupid in his adult life, you better believe its coming up in conversation in the hotel room, in the locker room, anytime before his hands get taped. Once that tape is on, it’s the only time in his daily life he’s insult free. The only time! The post-fi ght group has exploded in numbers over the last few years as you might imagine. The fi rst time I went to a post-fi ght celebration, we had a couple of couches in a club for his crew. Now? You could only imagine. Yet, the same people who sat on those couches back in the day, are still sitting on the couch next to him today. In Chuck’s world, there’s very little room for those who didn’t get in on the ground fl oor. For those lucky enough to jump into the group, you better be the most loyal SOB on the planet because that’s certainly what you’re getting back.

“We went to all his early fi ghts,” said Eric Schwartz, a college wrestling teammate and training partner of Chuck’s for the last 15 years or so. “After those fi ghts, it would be me and fi ve or six guys and we’d all go to the bars afterward. Then, it pretty much happened overnight; he’d fi ght and suddenly there were 500 people showing up to party with him and you’d only know like eight of them. But even with 500 people in there, the moment he sees one of us, he’ll knife through, fi nd you and give you a big hug.”

Liddell appreciates the fact that he’s become, as Ron Burgundy would say, “a pretty big deal around here.” But he’s not overly comfortable. That’s probably what separates him from every other celebrity in this country. He’s embarrassed and doesn’t see himself as worthy of any attention that exceeds sitting at the end of the bar with his boys.

At the same time, we’ve all started to get frustrated in some cases with his generosity. The man stops for every single person who wants a photo or autograph. A casual walk through a hotel lobby has changed into a 30-minute excursion these days, oftentimes ending with us being led behind the front desk and whisked away by security.

The man doesn’t know how to say no. Not only will he not decline a request, he actually takes people up on buying him a drink and then feels it necessary to spend time with the excited patrons.

“Those fans were there for me when I started, I got involved with them,” said Liddell. “I appreciate it. Part of it, I think it comes from where we came from as a sport. We had a lot of hardcore fans. I just consider it part of my job. I get to do what I love for a living. If taking a few minutes out of my time is part of the price, great. I try to remember, even when it gets hard, I remember this is the fi rst time this guy gets to meet me. He’s excited. I try to give enthusiasm back.”

Seriously, what star athlete does that? Apparently Chuck forgot his handbook on how to become a sports superstar at the offi ce.

How about this one – a few years ago he had to do a TV show at a firehouse in New York City. Chuck told them he and I wanted to hit some bars that night and asked if they wanted to join us. Just like that, their dreams came true and Chuck’s bar tab became huge. What sports hero asks their adoring fans to come hang out with them? Who the heck does that?

But that is who Chuck is. He’s as boyish today as he was ages ago, transforming back and forth between killer and the guy in the group you hope you get to pick on. “I remember when I first met him,” said Schwartz. “He has his hands in his pockets, doesn’t really look at you. He looked like a little monchichi doll. I looked at him and said, he’s tough? Please. He wouldn’t even make eye contact.”

“But he has this switch. One moment he’s talking to you and the next, bam, he switches and clicks over. It’s intimidating. He turns it on like someone just did something to his family. Some guy came after us with a baseball bat once and Chuck jumped in his face and the dude ran away. The guy had a bat, Chuck had nothing! He has those fucked up eyes though and he knows when to use them.”

The guys at FIGHT! wanted to know who he is, who is that man behind the icy eyes? He’s the guy sitting at the end of the bar. The friend you wish you had because he lives to bail his boys out of trouble. He’s the guy sitting and texting constantly because he really isn’t comfortable looking up to see it’s him everyone is looking at. He’s the guy you love to root for because you want a friend just like him, especially one that hits so hard.

There is nothing special, except the fact that he doesn’t act like he is special. You won’t see him looking for a red carpet, you won’t see him looking for a famous entourage. You’ll see him sitting at the same places he’s sat for years. Places in SLO with names like Library and the Graduate and Downtown Brew.

Just don’t leave your cell phone unattended or your mom may end up getting the shock of her life.